Really, Really, Old School Primitive Outdoor Blacksmithing

I don’t know if any of you have ever watched any of this guy’s videos but I stumbled across one where he built a primitive bush camp a while back and have been hooked ever since.

This young man has some serious talent.
He has a mouthful of a name though,
Rune Malte Bertram-Nielsen.
He also has over fifty video’s you can watch that range from quick little five minute jobs to ones that are over an hour long.

The best part of his videos, besides him showing how to make things  without power tools, is not only is there no incredibly annoying music, he doesn’t even speak while doing them either.

All you hear is either the tools being used, the fire crackling or the wind blowing.

I decided to share this particular video for several reasons but I think once you start watching it, no more explanation will be necessary on my part.

This stuff is just crazy cool  and I never in several lifetimes have thought to build this the way he did.

Who would have ever thought to build a Blacksmith’s shop at ground level?
I still haven’t figured out why he built this, he must have some project going because he has an absolutely awesome Blacksmith shop already.

I think you will find that this is well worth your time to watch.

8 thoughts on “Really, Really, Old School Primitive Outdoor Blacksmithing

  1. Sublime. That is some cool shit.
    Some people are amazing.

    You ever check out this blog: Contemporary Makers

    A whole community mostly across Appalachia and south, recreating the technology and handcraft of the Colonial Era. The Gunsmithing blows my mind. These guys not only reproduce period technology and artistic flair, they have resurrected the industrial methods and techniques. There’s two guys who built and use a deep drilling jig, and a rifling machine, out of wood and period Blacksmith made tooling. The blacksmithing and Tin ware, cloth making, leatherwork, the period art, it hits you, like you always knew it was superb Craftsmanship, maybe there is something in my blood from ancestors or something. It feels and looks right.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Right on, thanks for the link.
      I don’t know if you are aware of it but my Mother’s entire side of the family is from The South. Her and her Mother were both born in Missouri. Her Father was born and raised in Tennessee. I was back there in ’66 and ’76 when I was 16 years old. While we were in Tennessee we went and visited my Great Aunt. She lived all alone in a small house on 40 of the most gorgeous Ozark Mountain acres I could possibly imagine.
      There was one naked light bulb in the front room hanging by the wires with a pull chain and there was no running water in the house, she had to draw water from a well. There was a beautiful barn and plenty of pasture.I can barely remember her but I will never forget that barn and that land.
      Real life Ozark Mountain Hillbilly’s man.
      That is 1/2 of my heritage. That side of the family goes all the way back to the American Revolution.
      My Father’s side all came from the same little Northern Ireland town on the North West coast called Ballymena back in like the 1880’s or so.
      Two brothers married two sisters after they got here and that made my father Double Irish.
      One side of that clan was crazier than a pen full of pet coons, the other side was a bunch of farmers with the exception of my Grandfather who was a legendary drunken Hell raiser back in the little town in Nebraska they ended up at.

      Now you may understand where I come from and why I am the way I am.
      Half fucking crazy, take no fucking shit, 100% American . The best thing I ever did was quit drinking, it made the entire world a safer place.
      This is why I have such a natural affinity for the lifestyle in your neck of the woods.
      I was raised quite a bit by my Maternal Grandparents, who grew up during The Depression, dirt poor, Down South.
      Same lifestyle and value system.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Figure you appreciate what they are making. 1st time I browsed through the photos, I stayed up till 3am looking at the artistry. I admire that kids way, I’m going to adopt a couple of his techniques. Got me a forge and the parts for a leaf spring hammer, “Junk Yard Power Hammer”, couple guys up north of me 30 miles came up with the design. Uses leafsprings as the crank arm for the driven hammer. Its designed to be built with almost any kind of junk or scrap yard steel and parts and your imagination.
        Got to love this renaissance going on in the handcraft arts. I bet you Phil, it is not near its ultimate revival. Some really serious efforts going on.

        Hear you! Dude that is one nice sounding spread your grandma had. It still in the family? Kind of place you give a left nut for. Them Ozaarks are beautiful. My wife is from Missouri, met her in NH where I was raised up. She took me around on a tour, I really like the people in the Ms back country. Reminds me of home here. We got married in WV, on account we wanted to live here. You probably think about your grandma a lot, I sure do my grandparents who raised me.
        Ballymena? Whats that Gaelic for “Hammer” or something? I’m not joshing. It would fit you to a fucking T.
        I know that mic crazy. Grew up with guys that got it.
        I’m Scotsmen blood. Stewart clan. Escaped the 1st great land grab exodus, the English land lords did after suckering them in on land grants they pulled out from under them after they developed the farming land. Ours moved to Massachusetts bay colony what is Maine now, and over east of Bethlehem whats called the Brettonwoods area now. Mt Washington hotel and that strip of “flat” land up above Crawford’s Notch.

        Grew up with a lot of tough stubborn funnier than shit Irish. Good guys to know in a pinch. Dont make em mad, they never forget. And yeah, they don’t take no shit, rather though, be left fuck for real alone, don’t go looking for trouble, but do not put up with it either. Thicker than thieves though, for the North Country, as clannish as it gets up there. Once they like you your family.

        Its Scotts Irish here in this neck of WV. These are the people who everyone hated back then when they got here. Later it was who all who stood up to fight. At the end it was who kicked the Brits ass when the Patriots finally went Mountain Guerrilla Warfare when they where making Gen. Sherman like scorched earth kill everything and everyone run up the eastern seaboard.
        When they got to America, there wasnt Stopped them dead just into southwestern Virginia. Gen E Lee’s dad was one of the irregular’s leading officers.

        But before that, when they got here, probaly like your grandma and her kin, not much land left east of the Alleghanies, and that was considered THE frontier. You went into what is WV and west of the Smokey’s, you went into the great unknown. That was just the way these hillbillies wanted it. These guys got a picture in the dictionary under Clannish. And want to talk about a streak of dont fuck with me a mile wide? We been here 12 years and theirs niebhors still look at us as aliens. I really understand it. They got every reason not to trust outsiders. We was like that up north. Till the commie yankee massholes invaded.
        Yet, we got friends of life here. Even our own leftover Kin back north dont have respect and care for us as our “tribe” here. Another world I’m telling you, the outside world doesn’t have a reference point for it, except those who got this blood in them. All they see is hundreds of years of fake narrative hate.

        I worked in the coal mines, litterally had to keep eyes in the back of my head, 4 times I was set up to get killed, that’s mostly from guys down around Boone County, those boys are some kind of crazy, even the hillbillies up where we are think those guys are crazier than batshit, and dont trust them with a ten foot pole. Its funny as shit listening to hillbillies talking about hillbillies like that.
        Dont get me wrong, I got more friends here and niebhors who are like tribe members, wonderful people, who treat us as family, than 46 years in NH combined.

        Its that Scotts Irish, most are born with a rifle in one hand and a CAT joystick in the other, with a quart of shine between their feet. Besides, a little cheese has to have fallen off your cracker to work in a coal mine. Or logging in these mountains. Its a toss up how one is more hazardess and lethal than the other. Mostly they trade back and forth. Buts its the only paying work for most in the mountain parts. Everything wants to kill you in the mines. Pinch points you can only understand by dodging them, and dodging them is part of the safety plan no matter how the mine inspectors try to paint it. The roof can fall in anytime no matter how many bolts they put in it. They are just to make the inspectors and insurance companies happy. You cant hold a thousand foot of mountain and more up with threaded rebar and an epoxy capsule. Methane explosions are so violent it makes C4 look like black powder the damage it does. It’s so violent even in open air it with twist steel trusses of a train load-out tower into pretzels. Crazy destructive. I first worked on the most fucked up Rube Goldberg contraption ever invented, was conned into being a welder repairman on a “Highwall Miner”. It is a 175 ton self walking platform, a launch, for an underground miner, with “Cars” you link on as the miner cuts its way into a coal rib, where a bench has been cut around a mountain contour, at each level a coal seem is. Cuts a 6 foot by 4 foot into the highwall, which is the overburden of rock above the coal ribs. It can be from 30 ft to 500 feet, depending on the geology and how many coal ribs there are stacked above each other. The “belt cars” that follow the miner, like box cars on a train, they wiegh 10 tons each, you can run up to 21 cars behind the miner. Gets complicated in a hurry though. Anyways, a JOY miner is 7 tons, 11 belt cars is 110 tons, there was a crew in Colorado running the exact same Highwall miner I worked on. There’s Methane detectors on everything that run a safety interlock that shuts down everything when they destect above so many parts per billion Methane. Something went wrong on those boys. The explosion spit all 11 cars and the miner, and the thousands of tons of coal on the belt cars out of the hole, the coal dust boots the methane explosion. Killed the miner operator and foreman because the cars crumpled the miner operators 1 inch thick ballistic plate armored cab, the shock wave killed the “pad” guys who fix the cars together. They said the cars and miner came out like a rifle bullet. After that we had to put a “blast shield” on the front of the launch. A pathetic 1/4 thick plate and square steel tubing door that folded up. One night when we pulled out, it was about midnight, we where servicing the miner and #1 belt car, the blast shield was up. You shut everything down and lock out the breaker center and hydraulics. For some reason an electrician had reveresed the hoses of the valve that runs the jack that raises the blast shield. He had to work at it, because the mine specs required two different AN fittings to keep from reversing the hose connections. It was that way so the lever would not mistakenly get moved in its steel cage. One of the pad kids was dragging out a grease gun hose over his shoulder, the launch was tiped doen about 25 degrees to follow the “roll” of the coal rib. Usualy it didnt matter, because the hose of it rubed the valve handle pulled it in the raise position. With the power off nothing happens. But because it was reversed, the poor bastard pulled the lever in the now lower direction. And this new kid was on top of the gear box for the cutter head filling the gearbox with a oil gun. The blast shield came slamming down and rammed his face into the carbide bits of the cutter head, sent one right thru his eye socket into his brain. A cascade of events happened, Nobody put the safety pin for the blast shield, the foreman was off sleeping his nightly bottle off. We where so far out, almost 14 miles out the end of the strip, our CB’s couldnt reach the guard shack. The only 2 meter company radio was in the boss’s truck. It was below 20 below zero, wind whipping around the contour, all we had was the loader, and the Pizzapan that drops the belt cars on the launch. The poor kid went into shock. We all took off our jackets and shit and made a nest for him. talking turns snuggling up against him to keep him warmer. The first aid boxes they put everywhere where empty cause the meth-heads and pill-billies get in to the strips on 4 wheelers and steal them empty for fix money. We had to use weld bottle oxygen and a hose to keep the poor guy from croaking because he lost so much blood thru his eye socket. We thought he was going to give up the ghost couple times.
        It was 2 1/2 hours before the foreman got back from wherever he was sleeping off his drunk. Then an hour for an ambulance to make it all they way out the hail roads where we where. Its actually a felony in the mines if you try to move a guy to get him help rather than wait for EMT’s. Even though we all had mandatory basic EMT training yearly. Go figure. But we had no way to move the guy anyways without fucking him up more. Hard watching a guy you can’t help beyond basic trauma first aid in that kind of fix. We all kept talking to him much as we could. He later told us it was what kept him alive, that and everyones winter gear under and over him, he said it made him feel safe and cared for.
        You got to have some tuff as nails shit in your blood to survive that shit.

        I never knew what the total absence of light was till I went underground. You turn off your cap light, its so dark it screams. Hardy motherfuckers. That Scotts/Irish blood, don’t get better than that regards honor and a mans word either. The outside world sneers at Hillbillies, you don’t find American’s like these mountain dirt people across these ridge lines and hollows from the Ozark’s to the Monongahela’s. I don’t know what it is exactly enough to put it in proper words. But you know, its in your way of describing shit and your vernacular.

        Worked for a company 17 years traveled all over the US in a welding truck, you get in these mountains its another world and another breed of Men & Women.
        Like this country supposed to be and was made as. And you don’t need to live in them to be that, you got that blood in you.

        Our house was an old colonial era carriage road inn that went defunct because the road that led past it had to be moved on account of a branch where a north running river and large brook met washed out the coach road so many times everyone got tired of rebuilding the bridge. It was built in 1686, grand 3 floor timber frame old salt box, with broken back additions, a wood shed off the kitchen, 4 carriage stalls and a 4 hole shitter way at the end, you got to along a boardwalk inside along the back of that addition.It had the well in the kitchen floor under the kitchen table, big old soapstpne and copper sink with a piped in hand pump from the well. Even had an old icehouse with foot thick insulated walls filled with sawdust, it would be filled with ice from the river. Had a central chinmey with flues for fire places of woodstoves each side for 2 stories. the kitchen was a big old double oven wood cookstove with a hot water system in it. In the winter we took baths on top of it in a old washtub or on bricks in front with the oven doors open. My Pop put in a little propane stove and propane fired refrigerator for my grandma around 1970. We was down south visiting over night, we came up the road and there was nothing left. Looked like there was an explosion before the fire burnt our house and everything including the barn down. Fire was so hot the brass boards on beds melted down into the cellar hole. Somehow there was a gas leak. Those days there was a party line for telephone service. We never had electricity, but for some odd reason they ran poles for telephone. But anyways, there was an old crank phone in the kitchen, wall mount type with the ear piece you lift off the fork. It had those top mounted bells, and you could see the sparks when it rang. When the fire department came to check out the fire, they figured the sparks set off a propane explosion and set shit on fire. My grand parents died within two years and I got orphaned at 14.
        My life’s standards are gauged by that way of life we had. We grew truck garden, heated with wood from our land, fished trapped poached and hunted everything. Traded bartered worked off obligations. Took most of my adult life to become that kind of self reliant and free again in a sustainable fashion. Never Waste Nuthin’. You understand that man.

        Land and personal property, the reverence for it, is the greatest thing imaginable. Our rifles are property too. Its the first thing. Property makes Liberty possible and vice versa.
        You get that you get why they want to take our property. You ain’t a man if they can take it.
        Better to die taking the fuckers with you, than suffer their taking your shit. Thats the Irish and the Scott’s way. The Roman’s found that out. They never pacified the Isle’s. The English never have. These dirty stinking commies and their little precious NPC snowflakes talk shit about taking us?
        Nobody is even shooting back and they are scared shit of us.
        Better still though, making them die first and you fight to live to take out more of them. John Mosby and Qantrel understood that.
        Pretty soon they stop, or, there’s none left got the sack no more, probably both, way things are with them today.
        The Irish know this, its knowledge down to the bone. So too us Scotts.
        Its what fought them all, where the “III” percent came from, and the heart of Dixie that refought the same assholes 70 years later. And know again a third time. Be the same indomitable Irish and Scott’s blood that fights them again. After all, its what they are consumed with hate and envy and got it in for. They already made it clear who they are targeting for liquidation.
        Good luck Bitchez.
        Here you go little snowflake. Just put your dick here in this meat grinder while we hit the on switch.

        Gonna have to be a war to the teeth. They gone too far this go around. As they say in the Ozarks, like from Qantrel’s, and Mosby’s Rangers, their ain’t no forgivin’ and their ain’t no forgettin boy. You remember who made that iconic on the big screen?

        Liked by 1 person

        • I’m going to be busy so go ahead.
          As for your previous comments above, you must be one tough sonofabitch son.
          You also describe me to a “T” when it comes to the Irish in me.
          I can remember assholes from 40 years ago that pissed me off. I always thought there was something wrong with me but it appears it’s just the way of the Irish.,
          You would think that even though they don’t teach shit for history in school anymore that they might want to make an exception and pound that into these little snowflake’s heads.


          Liked by 1 person

          • No, nothing wrong with you. Its what is right and what that reservoir of cold anger is about thats gonna bust its damn and turn back, reset, the clock.
            And its good to know I’m in good company then.

            For those got caught up in the terrible revisionism, its hard love time comin’. Ain’t like there is any lack of resistance they can pick up on. Nothing like the school of trial by fire to shape up the ones got what it takes in them.

            For the rest…well…


            Liked by 1 person

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